The Hardest Thing
by PinkSandals
Summary: Mysteries can scare, but decisions can kill.
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Disclaimer: Only during my dreams, wishes, hopes, and desires do I own CSI. Very sad, I know.

The Hardest Thing

A/N: This idea completely popped into my head. I have a great ending, so I will try to work backwards and make a great beginning to match it. Stay 'tooned.

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The 911 call came in around 2 am. The only thing audible was a faint whimpering in the background. Then, the call cut off and the horrible indeterminate dial tone invaded.

The police were dispatched to check it out. The call was traced to a medium-to-wealthy neighbourhood with pretty street signs, precariously groomed and vitamin-fed lawns, and coordinating houses. The cruiser glided slowly past the neat fences, scanning for a disturbance. It slowly came to a stop in front of a house they'd probably determined as the one from tracing the call. An officer got out, muttering to his younger partner to "finish your damn coffee," and shut the door. The other officer followed. They walked up the path to the door. Keelson, the young officer, knocked on the door, identifying him and his partner. They jumped back when the door swung open. Fearful, they unhooked their weapons and peeked inside.


	2. Upstairs

Ch.2 --- I don't own the greatness that is CSI.

The air hung heavily. There was no other way to describe it, but death was in the air. The two officers crept through the foyer, shining their flashlights on every surface trying to find the origin of what they knew was a body. A dead, profusely bleeding body. The officers identified themselves again, but the only answer was an echo and whatever imaginary voice in their heads that screeched and terrorized them. They were weary of the possibility of some insane gun or knife-wielding murderer jumping up from any shadow but it didn't happen.

They approached the kitchen and there they were. A woman, a man… one gunshot each. Blood covered the floor smoothly. The gun was positioned in the man's hand unnaturally, but could have been the result of his demise, falling to the ground. There was a lot of blood.

Keelson slowly and calmly called for backup and other necessary people just as they both heard a thump upstairs. It suddenly dawned on them that the dead couple didn't call 9-1-1 and the family photographs littering the hallway meant there were two girls, somewhere. Presumably upstairs. The pair hurried up, calling. At the end of a curved stairwell was a maze of hallways. They rushed in and out of the various rooms, searching. The second-to-last door on the left had a light on, and inside sat a girl in the corner of the room, under her quilt, shaking horribly.


	3. Luisa

Her name was Luisa, and she sat, shaking, under her quilt in an ambulance while being checked by paramedics, and not really liking the whole situation. The officers had determined she was the eldest daughter, 15 years old, of the couple inside. Her 8-year old sister Jericho, was gone. Luisa didn't respond to any questions, but her lack of worry for her sister told the officers she in fact knew where she was. She observed hordes of people in uniform coming and going from her house, and neighbours starting to gather.

"Hey there," someone said, approaching. His voice was comforting and smooth, and he seemed welcoming and pleasant. He looked like a friendly cop. "My name is detective Vartann, and I have to bring you to the station so we can ask you some questions, is that alright?" Luisa looked at him for a minute. Suddenly she seemed and looked like a frightened, vulnerable child no older than five. She looked at her home, where she knew her parents were, and back at the detective. She was about to say yes, but then refrained from speaking, and just nodded. He led her to his car.

Detective Vartann realized that he wasn't going to crack her on the 20-minute drive, so he decided to put her at ease by talking. About what, he didn't really know. He just started talking nonchalantly about random topics as much unrelated to what Luisa just experienced as he could muster. His car radio, New York, and the silly blabbering radio station DJ's before shutting it off. He looked over to the stone-faced girl and thought he was making an absolute idiot of himself, and shut up for his own sanity.

As he spoke, Luisa tried to detect if he had an accent. She wasn't entirely sure but the way he spoke seemed foreign but neighborly. She glanced deadly out the window at the lack of goings-on in the dawn of day, and when he stopped talking, it was like she snapped back into reality. Vividly, a flash of dead mom and dying dad flew through her head. Then blood, thick blood, chasing her up the stairs. She looked at him, petrified, and, asked him silently to please, please keep on talking.

At her request, and the first sound of her frightened voice, Vartann with a more established confidence and verification, started talking about Niagara Falls; while Luisa continued to contently stare out the window.


End file.
